Viewers will find solace in Melissa Leo’s magic.
WELCOME TO THE RILEYS was for this reviewer all about Melissa Leo’s performance of Lois Riley and her delightful transformation in the film - the fiery-haired actress consistently delivers. James Gandolfini (adopting an uneven Midwestern accent) and Kristen Stewart deliver passable performances, but in the end we’ve seen a kindly man save a beautiful stripper from herself so, so many times before that the end result just isn’t entirely original.
In the movie we find Doug and Lois (Gandolfini and Leo) in an unhappy marriage, having grown apart since losing their teenage daughter in a car accident eight years before. Doug leaves his agoraphobic and practically zombified wife behind for a business trip to New Orleans, where meets a 17-year-old runaway (Kristen Stewart), and the two form a platonic bond.
The movie gets off to a murderously slow start as it spends way too much time establishing the couple’s unhappiness in a drab section of suburban Indianapolis. It begins to take off however as Gandolfini begins a series of dramatic changes to his life, starting with taking Stewart under his wing.
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A flat reincarnation of life-after-death films you've seen before.
While I liked the three main characters in Clint Eastwood’s HEREAFTER, I never became attached enough to them or their stories to keep from lapsing into spells of boredom. Most of the film splits into three separate stories, which means each character disappears from the screen for ten to twenty minutes at a stretch. Perhaps if we got to see the three protagonists more consistently, it would have been easier to connect with them.
Matt Damon is a fine actor and it wouldn’t surprise me if he one day walks away with a well-deserved acting Oscar. That said, he's so good-looking -- even with extra pounds and a dash of gray in this role -- it was hard for me to accept him as a lonely, isolated soul. (No matter how big his character’s burden.) Also, he exhibits a form of ESP, a trait we’ve seen too many times now on the screen. The scenes in which Damon’s George communicates with the deceased are just cheesy. I also got the impression I was supposed to be bowled over with emotion by his final spiritual reading in the film -- instead it came across as silly.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. What unites the central character in each of the three tales -- George, Marcus and Marie -- is their interest in heaven, or the hereafter. Damon plays George Lonegan, a San Francisco native who reluctantly communicates with the departed by holding the hands of their loved ones. Marie (Cécile De France), who lives in Paris, is forever changed by a near-death experience while vacationing abroad. And London schoolboy Marcus (played by both Frankie and George McLaren)mourns the recent loss of his twin brother, killed in a car accident. (Tragedy follows so closely upon tragedy at the beginning of the film that it's difficult to shake one's paranoia that yet more doom is in store for these folks.) Marie and Marcus’s experiences force them to delve into research on life after death. Both their quests ultimately lead them to George, who is bitter, frustrated and lonely over his "cursed" ability to transcend the physical world.
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Not horrible, with a few good laughs.
LIFE AS WE KNOW IT is not horrible, despite the modern romantic comedy genre’s poor, abused track record. The preview screening I attended was full of girls and gays - the latter surely attending in part to glimpse hunky Josh Duhamel in tighty-whiteys, as seen in the poster. (Hey, it caught this gay's attention.) Anyway, as I gritted my teeth through this groaningly obvious and ridiculous plot, I can at least say I did smile sometimes. And the audience I was with ate it up.
We first meet Holly (Heigl) and Eric (Duhamel) on a blind date set up by their mutual best friends Alison and Peter (Christina Hendricks and Hayes MacArthur), who are married to each other. So inconsiderate is Eric to Holly that after showing up an hour late, sans apology, he proceeds to make a booty call from the passenger seat of her car before they've even left for dinner. She tells him off, and that's that. Except it’s not. Since their best friends are a couple, Holly and Eric endure each other’s company again and again, and their hatred for one another only deepens with time. The silliness kicks in after their BFF’s die in a car crash: Holly and Eric are designated in the will as baby Sophie’s joint caretakers -- and (romantic) chaos ensues.
Question: Are our hearts really supposed to bleed for the grieving Holly and Eric when we don't know anything of substance about these characters this early in the movie? If the director had chosen to show literal cardboard cut outs of their friends crumpled in a smashed car -- two-dimensional test dummies -- I would respond with equal indifference. Alison and Peter are cardboard: pretty, bland people with no defining personality traits whatsoever. (Though we do see Peter harass a teen for being high, then confiscate the poor guy’s pot for his own use. Um, dick?)
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An absorbing movie with a caveat: it’s not what the trailer claims it to be.
CATFISH literally puts you on the edge of your seat (and in this reviewer’s case, hands over mouth in incredulity) with its unexpected twists. However, despite its protagonists’ authenticity and so-bizarre-it-must-be-real turn of events – not to mention the filmmakers’ vehement insistence that none of it was staged -- I’ve got my doubts about its being 100% documentary. No matter how well it may have been edited, the dialogue’s pace and timing at times are just a little too crisp for normally messy reality. Just want to get that point out of the way. Fortunately though, in the end that question mark is neither here nor there - if anything, the mystery contributes to the film’s quirky appeal.
Nev (short for Yaniv, so pronounced Neev) Shulman is an amiable, fledgling photographer in New York City. Shortly after one of his photos is published in the New York Sun, Nev receives in the mail a painted reproduction of the pic from an 8-year-old girl named Abby in small-town Michigan. The two become friends on Facebook (the cinematic topic du jour, with THE SOCIAL NETWORK hitting theaters Oct. 1). Nev sends her more of his photos, and Abby joyfully paints and sends them to him. Nev then becomes Facebook friends with Abby's mother Angela and older sister Megan (both very attractive in their photos). And then with their circle of friends… Enter Nev's brother Rel (short for Ariel) and best friend Henry, both amateur filmmakers. The enterprising duo, also in their twenties, see documentary fodder in this strange but sweet story of budding online friendships. They start shooting, somewhat to Nev’s chagrin.
And thus the tale, and their documentary, takes a series of zigzags none of the three saw coming.
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A squandered opportunity.
WALL STREET: MONEY NEVER SLEEPS is a squandered opportunity to engage an elite collection of actors and timely brand (the real Wall Street and Gordon Gekko) to flesh out for American audiences exactly what transpired in the bowels of Manhattan’s Financial District in the past two years. Not to mention tell a great story in the process.
Mission sooo not accomplished.
Jake Moore (Shia Leboeuf) is a whiz kid investment banker living the dream life. Until, that is, his mentor Louis Zabel (Frank Langella in one of the film's few strong performances) and firm are destroyed by corporate competitor Churchill Schwartz and its oily helmsman Bretton James (Josh Brolin). Moore vows revenge. Enter Mr. Gordon Gekko (Michael Douglas of course), older, wiser and panged with regret (cough) after years in the slammer. Gekko is father to Moore's fiancee Winnie (Carey Mulligan) and soon enters an agreement with his son-in-law-to-be: Gekko will help Moore pin down the people responsible for his heartache if Moore will help Gekko reconcile with his daughter.
You can probably make a series of guesses as to how these scenarios will play out, and in all likelihood you're right on all of them. The film's unfortunate predictability and lack of imagination make for an altogether dull two hours. Perhaps what's hardest to digest however is the gross under-utilization of such an acting powerhouse as this cast presents. Shia not only comes across as unconvincing as an investment genius, but his character is such a straight-up boy scout I found his lack of hesitation to repeatedly lie to his fiancée’s face a bit hard to swallow.
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Gorgeous, sweeping, sad.
NEVER LET ME GO is based on the 2005 Kazuo Ishiguro book of the same name which Time dubbed “the best novel of the decade,” a fact the film’s fabulously forlorn poster doesn’t neglect to point out. The movie - sure to be an awards contender come fall - is directed by Mark Romanek, whose only other directorial credit for work released in theatres is 2002’s flawed but cult-classic psychological thriller ONE HOUR PHOTO, starring Robin Williams in the role of a lifetime.
I am pleased to proclaim that Romanek easily tops his early-2000’s frosh debut and has proven himself a heavyweight contender. NEVER stars hot young acting talent Carey Mulligan (Oscar-nominated for her ingénue in AN EDUCATION and starring in the upcoming WALL STREET sequel) as Kathy; handsome budding new star Andrew Garfield (THE SOCIAL NETWORK, and the official new Peter Parker/Spiderman) as Tommy; and Oscar nominee Keira Knightley (PRIDE AND PREJUDICE, ATONEMENT) as Ruth. The three play flummoxed young school grads stumbling through abbreviated adult lives following their time at the postcard-worthy boarding school Hailsham. Young thespians Izzy Meikle-Small, Charlie Rowe and Ella Purnell impressively play their earlier grade-school counterparts in the first segment of the film– expect to see one or more of these young’uns again.
The trailer merely hints at the sci-fi(-ish) hook of the storyline, which I’ll also refrain from spelling out. Let’s just say though that NEVER LET ME GO’s bucolic British tale takes place in a universe just like ours save for one shocking-but-never-discussed-in-polite-company distinction. The love triangle of Kathy, Tommy and Ruth is utterly engrossing, as are the actors’ portrayals of the characters themselves: Carey’s long, soulful looks, Garfield’s silent anguish and shattering scream and Knightley’s manipulation of the two kept me pining for more. You know these people, and you want to know more even as the end credits roll; Mulligan could very well nab another Oscar nom for her work. The supporting cast is also incredible: Sally Hawkins and Nathalie Richard steal scenes in their small roles as conscience-racked elders, and you wouldn’t want to mess with Charlotte Rampling’s dour schoolmarm – who manages to redeem herself in the end.
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A gripping, true-to-life story translated faithfully to the screen.
MAO’S LAST DANCER is based on the true story of internationally acclaimed ballet dancer Li Cunxin (portrayed by newbie Chi Cao, himself a principal with the Birmingham Royal Ballet). Plucked from his tiny farming community in native China (all scenes in China were actually filmed there) in the early 70’s, Li goes on to endure rigorous training and government supervision in Beijing and ultimately embarks on a new life in Houston. Bruce Greenwood plays choreographer Ben Stevenson, to wonderful effect and with much heart, perfectly encapsulated in his sweet response to Li’s query about a racial slur.
The movie shifts back and forth in time between Li’s regimented youth in Beijing and culture shock-laden existence - and eventual defection to - Reagan-era America, kicking off with his arrival in Texas in 1981, agog at the skyscrapers lining his drive into the city. From such minute details as his brothers’ family names (“Fifth Son,” “Sixth Son”) to their stern instruction in the classroom that life in capitalist countries is unbearable and dark (literally), the film deftly illustrates daily life – and the Chinese people’s terrified fealty to the State - under Mao.
Amanda Schull plays Li’s pretty (but sadly one-dimensional) young wife Liz Mackey; Kyle MacLachlan appears out of the blue as the drawling immigration attorney who assists Li in a dramatic showdown at Houston’s Chinese consulate. By then I’d felt the storyline was complete, but a far more powerful climax still lay in store that admittedly brought this reviewer to years (and I’m not a crier) and ends on a beautiful, emotional note. None of the details of which I’ll give away…
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